


You'll Enjoy It More (Consensual Chris/Isak)

by Lesbianna



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: And Plot, And angst, Blowjobs, Boys Kissing, Gay Club, M/M, Podfic, Seduction, Smut, The age of consent in norway is 16, They're not underage in norway, boys making out, explicit - Freeform, handjobs, it's smut, ok so it's not PG13, well beyond PG13??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesbianna/pseuds/Lesbianna
Summary: Chris' just trying to be nice. That's all. He's trying to get Isak laid by suggesting they go to a gay bar, but he hadn't expected the things that he'd, well... want.Or:The story where Chris accidentally flirts with his friend Isak at a gay club, and Isak asks if he's ever kissed a boy. Kissing ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

Podfic for this chapter is avalable [here](http://annabondehinke.podbean.com/e/youll-enjoy-it-more-a-chrisxisak-podfic/)

-

His hands are wrapped around the pint in his hand, as he looks around in the club.

He's watching two girls on the dance floor, trying to only keep his attention on them. They're kissing, and it makes him feel hot and uncomfortable. It's something about how... Organic? The kisses are. They're... True. These two girls aren't putting on a show like the girls Chris usually is around. They're swaying in the middle of the dance floor, kissing and feeling and enjoying. And the strangest thing is, that Chris doesn't want in on the action. He doesn't want to have a threesome, he doesn't want to watch them fuck. That is definitely strange. But maybe something else is even stranger, he thinks, as his eyes land on Isak, who's casually leaning against other end of the bar, talking to the bartender, his hair wild and stray curls sticking to the nape of his neck, his green polo shirt accentuating the muscles in his back. Something inside of Chris - the part that probably has drunk a beer too much, the part that hasn't got laid for a whole fucking week - is wondering what Isak's muscles look like when he is going down on someone, if they go taut with concentration or slack with want...  
He turns his attention back to the organic-kissing lesbians, a flush to his cheeks. It was a dumb idea, coming here. Coming to a gay club. He'd just wanted to support Isak, wanted to help him. It can't be nice only having your right hand and a wank to depend on.  
But he hadn't expected the club to be this stimulating. It's just like any other club, of course, with flashing lights and dim corners, loud music, bass pumping through, couples groping, and lots of alcohol. But the couples under the lights writhing to the music are _gay_. Men are making out, grinding, touching, and Chris has felt shy all night, not daring to look for more than a few moments at a time. It's exhilarating to watch, he thinks. He's never been with a man, always said he wouldn't. But watching this place...  
"Tequila?" He hears Isak scream over the music, as he thrusts a shot of the alcoholic beverage into his hand. He smiles, and notices a glint appearing in Isak's eyes. Oh. He had put on his flirty smile without even realizing it. The irresistible flirty one. And Isak knows that smile, of course he does. He can’t hide how he wants Isak. For it is clear that his body wants Isak. He downs the shot, grabs another, and downs that. Isak asks if he wants to dance, and he laughs. He doesn't wanna dance, he's horny and should probably be hoping for a threesome with two girls - he notices just now that two girls are sending him coy looks and then leaning in to make out with each other sloppily - but he doesn't want to. He wants Isak right now.  
He presses a hand into Isak's lower back as they walk to the dance floor, not too low, but definitely low, and traces the fabric of the shirt, feeling the skin beneath. He has done this so many times, but he has never felt a boy's body against his, has never felt a flat chest, and that is why he doesn't sneak his hands up the shirt. Just like his first time touching a girl's breasts, he wants to savor it. Experimenting is for savoring. So he traces his fingers over the shirt and it's obvious that it's not an accident. It's obvious that he's not just leading him to the floor, but mapping him out, learning what a boy's lower back feels like. Isak turns his head and smiles at him. Chris isn't moving his hand from Isak's body. He trails a finger over the ribcage, and feels a shuddering under his fingers. Isak likes that, apparently. He wonders if he likes being touched there himself. Then Isak leans forward - they are now on the dance floor, how'd they end up here? And oh god, the sweaty bodies and all the gay people kissing and chatting each other up, and Chris feels hot as Isak whispers in his ear, "you know, I bet you've never kissed a guy before…"

He raises an eyebrow. “That an offer, Valtersen?” Isak just grins cheekily, and raises a mocking eyebrow at him, and said something that sounded like, “I notice how you didn’t deny that!”

He smirked. “If you’re offering, I won’t have to deny it for much longer.”

Isak’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a playful, seductive smirk. Chris was slightly taller than Isak - half an inch, or an inch at most - but he still felt strangely overpowered by Isak’s breath as Isak curled a hand into his hair, and twirled a lock of Chris’ hair around his finger.

“You’ll enjoy this,” he says hoarsely into Chris’ ear, as he tucks the hair behind it. “More than you enjoy watching lesbians make out,” he says and then, oh god, then, he leans forwards and licks the earlobe, and Chris is breathing heavily, and he’s burning, everything is bass and Isak’s lips licking his jaw filthily, and it’s, well, it’s nothing like he’d ever have imagined Isak kissing, but it’s probably because this is Chris, and the thought that Isak is accommodating his kissing technique to him is so _hot_ that he just needs to-

His hands fists themselves into Isak’s soft hair, and his tongue is roaming over the skin, and he _wants_ , and he _needs_ , and he’s throbbing and thrumming and drunk on beer and Tequila and Isak. And finally their lips meet, and it’s hot and slick and tastes of alcohol, and _fuck, Isak is taking control_ , and he’s feeling weak to the knees, because Isak’s left hand is leaving featherlight traces of touches on his ribcage while his right is grabbing his hips tightly, and ohgod, he is so aching for this-

And Isak lets him know that he is aching for it too, if the hardness in his pants is anything to go by, and then Isak pulls away with a groan…

“This is probably better than any two chicks kissing, you’d beat them at that any day. Fuck, how are you so good at this?” he says, and finds that he doesn’t really want to let go of Isak’s soft hair. And why should he? If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to shag Isak tonight, he thinks, as he, without waiting for a reply, leans in and kisses Isak again. Or maybe, Isak will shag him tonight. He finds he wouldn’t mind that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is hungry for tasting. It's like food, like oxygen. He's always been hungry, and he's always wanted to taste. Just what he has wanted to taste, he hasn't ever really known.  
> Or:  
> Chris has pulled Isak in for a second kiss, and he wants more, of every touch, every kiss, every lick, though every one sends thoughts whirling through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!   
> Since the people who commented were very excited about this story and actually DID want me to make a part two, I decided to do it.   
> This is smut. Gay smut.

Chris’ fists are tangled so deep in Isak’s hair that it has got to hurt, but all Isak’s doing is pulling him closer, his left hand still oh-so-very gentle, tracing Chris’ ribcage, stroking his back, then caressing the nape of his neck, while his right is still holding on so tightly to his hip that it almost hurts - almost. Every now and then Chris takes control of the kisses, before silently telling Isak to take it again, to steer them. Tongue and lips and roaming hands.

“Wanna, I don’t know, get out of here?” Isak asks, breathlessly, as he pulls away once again. Chris grabs Isak’s right hand in his, and leads him towards the exit door of the bar. “Let’s get out of here,” he says in confirmation. Isak nods, says, ‘good idea’ and then nods some more. He looks slightly dazed. _Chris had had that reaction on him_ , he realizes. And Isak has definitely had the same reaction on him, though he knows he’s better at subduing it. Girls rarely ever catches him looking dazed like that.

They scrapes together the coins and notes they have, and silently agrees to take a taxi to Isak’s place, which is closest. The bar is situated on a busy street, so after twenty-three long seconds, one of the yellow cars stops for them. They scramble in and tells the driver to take the quickest route to Isak’s house.

The nerves starts building up inside Chris, though he firmly tries to squash them down. What _the hell_ is he doing, going home with _Isak_ of all people?! Isak, who’s gay, Isak, who’s one of the people he has begun to care most about in the world at the moment, Isak who has the softest lips and the most talented tongue… What is he _doing_ , thinking about his Isak, his _male_ _friend_ like this, and getting hard and wanting and throbbing? He taps his right foot nervously on the car floor, avoiding looking anywhere but at his lap. Isak grabs his cheek, and turns him gently towards him, and kisses his lips so softly it tingles and feels like butterflies.

“Calm down, I know you’ve never done it like this, and you can choose what you want to do. We can sleep, if you want to. We don’t have to- Look, just,” he tells Chris, sighs, and then repeats his first two words. “Calm down. I won’t force you to do anything. Understand? You are in the driver’s seat.”

He nods mutely to Isak’s words, and kiss him gently back, ignoring the driver’s grumbling about how _he_ actually literally is _in the driver’s seat_.

Chris is not used to being gentle, and he know Isak does not need him to be. But something about the kisses makes him _want_ to be. It must be the alcohol. It must be the Tequila, which he can still taste in Isak’s mouth. It must be the lack of sex. It must be Isak’s goddamn hitched breath as Chris bites his bottom lip.

And then they’re at Isak’s home, and Isak’s pulling him inside, and into his room, which looks entirely different for some reason, beautiful and dim and romantic, even though it’s still the same messy room as always.

“Bed?” Chris ask Isak, softer than he had intended. He hadn’t intended to sound so dumb and young-teenage-girl-y. But Isak smiled and pulls him to the bed, placing him down on it. Neither of them are so drunk they’ll hurl, but they’re also drunk enough to let this all happen. Isak splays across his chest, and asks if he can kiss him. Chris laughs, and arches his neck so that Isak can kiss it. “Go ahead Valtersen,”

And Isak complies.

Isak’s fingers trail over his eyebrows, his cheekbones, nuzzles his ears, and runs through his hair, then trails over his cheekbones again and again, as he breathes heavily into his skin, his tongue once again licking filthily at his jaw, teeth nipping at earlobes and mouth sucking on spots on his neck. It’s a strange feeling, to have somebody touch your face like that, in a way that isn’t sexual, yet sexual at the same time. It is for Chris, anyway. He’s used to girls worshipping his body, of course, but the tenderness in Isak’s touch is such a turn-on, because of the fact, that judging by the way his breath is heavy on Chris, how hungry his lips are, how his hardness is pressing into Chris’ thigh it is clear that he wants Chris, wants to take him, but is holding back, to let Chris _choose_ , like he _truly cares_ and Chris finds that he wants to _give_. He could say no, say that he has kissed a boy now, and remind Isak that Chris always said he’d never be with a man, but God, he _wants to give_ , and Isak is touching his face so gently.

“Please,” he whispers. Isak huffs out a breathy laugh, and moves to lick Chris’ lips thoroughly, before pulling away, and looking him in the eye. “What do you want?” Isak asks, and _looks_ at him, into his soul, with a kind of eager honesty.

“I- Everything, I- I want- You- please, oh-“ he babbles, as Isak’s thigh accidentally brushes harder against his groin; not in a painful way, as he’d probably have expected from something that involved another man pressed against him. No, all it is is fire and desire and Isak’s laughter, and the next time the thigh presses against him, it is _deliberate_ and _friction_ , and _oh_.

“Take- Your shirt, please,” he whispers, and manages not to whimper, because he has to keep his dignity. Isak sits up, legs on either side of him, and pulls off the green shirt. He looks nervous, but also completely at ease. He has tried this before. And this is what makes Chris take his decision, quick and fast. They both have expertise with sex, albeit with different sexes. “My pants,” he says. “Off. I want you to- fuck me.”

He isn’t used to saying the last two words to someone else. After all, his male genitalia has so far dictated that _he_ is the one to fuck someone. But even though the words taste weird, they also taste exhilarating.

Isak cocks his head, and smiles. “Is that what you want?”

Chris thinks for a moment, and discovers, that _yes_ , it is. _Fuck yes_ , it is what he wants. He smiles, and Isak groans in that sexy, sexy way and kisses him again, peeling off Chris’ shirt with trembling fingers, trailing feather-light touches down his chest, his torso, caressing the skin, flicking the nipples, bringing one into his mouth - something no girl had ever thought to do to him - and again, _oh_. Flames are dancing in his body; and some are scorching hot with desire, and some are hot with affection, because Isak is taking his time with him. He finds that his hands are unbuttoning Isak’s pants. He isn’t entirely sure. If there is a reason beyond that he just wants to _feel,_ and be with Isak right _now_ , he doesn’t want to find it.

Isak unbuttons his pants with clumsy movements, and pulls them down, palms him for a second through his briefs, and then pulls them down, and let his hands caress the curve of Chris’ ass. He can tell Isak has  wanted to touch for a while, and he has simply been respectful. He chokes lightly on his arousal as Isak squeezes an ass cheek gently. “Please,” he says simply.

“Lube,” he hears Isak mumble, and contents himself with exploring Isak’s buttocks himself while the boy rummages in his drawer beside the bed, until he finds a small bottle, which he examines.

“There’s not enough lube in here…” he says, sighs a bit, but smiles at Chris nonetheless.

“I, uh, I don’t care,” Chris says, not entirely sure whether he _should_ care. Not exactly an expert. Isak rolls his eyes and laughs. “Well, babe, _I_ care. I don’t want to hurt you,” He says. He kisses Chris softly.

“How would you even have fit it in there? I mean, you’d need the whole bottle for that, it’d hurt like hell.” It isn’t like Isak is gigantic, but… buttsex hurt a lot, he’s heard. Why didn’t he think of this before asking Isak to fuck him?

“I’d have fingered you first. It opens you up. But…” Isak blushes. “I just remembered that it hurts quite a lot the first time, if you’re not careful, and since I’m so-“ he gestures at his crotch, where his member is still hard and needy, and Chris wonders what it feels like to touch it, “- _excited_ , I guess you could call it, I’d maybe accidentally hurt you, and-“

It hits Chris like a brick wall; Isak is trying so hard to accommodate to him, in spite of his arousal he’s trying to make sure _Chris_ has the best experience possible, the best _first time_ possible (for it is his first time doing it with a guy, after all), and he feels like crying. He wonders if any of the girls whose virginity he has taken ever felt so protected and cared for. He doubts it.

He reaches up, tangles his hand softly in Isak’s hair, and kisses him. Slowly and deliberately interrupting him in his rambling. “I don’t want you to hurt me. I don’t think my ass could take it.” He says with a grin when pulling away. Isak rolls his eyes with an endearing smile, and kisses him again.

This is far slower and gentler than anything he’s ever done, and he’d never have expected it. But he thinks, well, he _knows_ he likes it. He’ll also like it a lot if Isak touches him again though, and he tells him that.

“Excellent - God, excellent idea,” Isak says, as Chris pulls him down, and their cocks brush, wet and slick with pre-come. They both groan and moan and gasp at the friction, and Chris desperately reaches down to wank himself off, but his hands seems to change their mind halfway down, and settles on Isak’s hardness instead, and _strokes_ , and elicits a sharp hiss of pleasure from the other boy, and _fuck_ that sounds so _good_ , and it feels even better, when Isak’s hand starts caressing his balls and he _moans_ , and _please, more_ , and-

Suddenly Isak’s dick is gone. Isak’s moved away from his hand, and he’s kissing down his stomach, making mewling noises, his hand still fondling Chris’ balls, and Chris can’t breathe because, _oh is this going where he thinks it is_? And he finds himself telling Isak to _please keep going_ , and further words are unnecessary, as Isak licks down either side of his V-line and sucks on his hipbones. Chris’ body is tensing and relaxing every other second; he can’t help it, he’s straining so hard not to just buck his hips and _beg._

“I want you to- If you’ll- If you want to- Please-“ he then whimpers, as Isak licks the line of hair leading down his stomach. Isak held all the power over him right now. And he was choosing to let him have it.

A tentative lick to the head of his dick seconds later makes him gasp. “Yes, oh, Isak!”

Another lick, a press of tongue against the slit, and then the head is sucked into a swirling vortex of tongue and wetness and pleasure, and Chris feels himself swirling and on the verge of coming and he manages to cry out, and Isak sucks a last time on his dick, lets go of it, and licks down the underside, and- and _fuck_ , he’s coming.

He clutches the bedsheets desperately - his hands hadn’t dared stray to Isak’s hair in fear he’d stop doing that wonderful thing with his _mouth_ \- and tries to regain his breathing. Isak spits out the come that got in his mouth, and wipes his chin with the bed sheets.

Isak crawls up beside him, and Chris loves how _good_ he looks right now, with messy hair and hard dick and swollen lips and hooded lids. “Let me,” he whispers as Isak reaches down to take care of himself, and takes Isak’s dick in his hand, and it feels so good to touch it even after he’s come. Isak throws his head back appreciatively with a low moan, and Chris takes the opportunity to press his lips to his throat and suck at it, and then he makes a guy come in his fist.

Wow. They regain their breathing again, and lie there in bed for a moment.

“So, did you like sex with a guy?” Isak then asks with a sexy grin, ruffling his hair with one hand, as he props himself up on one elbow to watch Chris. Chris isn’t sure when he started thinking Isak’s grin is sexy. Maybe always.

“I don’t think it matters whether I liked ‘ _sex with a guy’_.” He says, his mouth running off without his permission; his head is still swimming in the post-orgasmic state. “I liked sex with _you._ ”

Isak’s looking at him weirdly he realizes. And Chris’s half embarrassed, and half defiant. How is he supposed to stop himself from saying sappy stuff, when Isak is lying there, his lips pink and swollen from all that they’ve been doing? How is he supposed to even _think_?

“We could go out for coffee tomorrow,” he says, not able to look away from Isak’s face. Damn mouth and eyes.

If there is a reason for asking, beyond that he just wants to _feel,_ and be with Isak both _right_ _now, and later too_ , he doesn’t want to find it.

And Isak is smiling. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought of this!   
> If you're interested in me making (at least part one) of this story into a podfic, then please comment below! You can check out my Drarry drabble podfic on this link: https://annabondehinke.podbean.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't let anyone think you're interested for too long; it only leads to heartbreak.  
> Or;  
> Chris leaves Isak under the blankets. He's not ready for heartbreak. As if he can prevent it.

He’d fallen asleep within minutes, and when he wakes he is warm and covered in dried sweat, feeling sated and satisfied, and for a second his mind is blank. What happened? Then he feels the warm body next to his, and remembers. Oh god, does he remember. He had been so fucking vulnerable, had wanted so much, almost begged, no, he had actually begged, fuck, fuck, fuck!  
He slithers out of bed with practiced ease, grabs his clothes from the night before from the floor. His hands must be considering pulling on Isak's shirt instead of his own, and his nose most be intent on smelling him as he smelled last night, before this happened. He buries his face in the soft fabric, but the whole room smells like sex - a scent that is so familiar to him that he didn't even notice it when he woke up. By gods, he needs to get away. Now. He lets Isak's shirt go, and pulls on his own clothes. He needs to get away. On with the shoes, out the door.

*

He writes out a million different texts in his head on his way home, never letting himself type them out. Some of them are foolish and sappy and stupidly romantic for a mistake that will never happen again. Such as the one where he calls Isak _darling_ and asks him to meet him at Starbucks as soon as he has gone home to take a shower and change. Some of them are apologetic. _I’m sorry, but I had to leave._ Some are accusing and total lies. _How could you take advantage of me like that?_ Some of them he pretends he doesn’t know why they were asleep naked, in the same bed. _I must’ve been really drunk last night, what happened?_ Again, total lies and deception.

*

When he’s home, safe and sound behind the wards of his doors, he shakily pulls out his phone. Isak has sent him a text. _Where are you?_ He ignores it. Takes a shower. Thinks about the text throughout the whole thing. Jumps back out of the shower, water dripping down his body, cascading in thick droplets down the ribcage Isak had caressed so carefully. He shivers at the thought.

He picks up the phone. Another text.

 _Still up for coffee?_ The new text says.

 _‘No_ ’ he replies quickly. He expects a ‘why not’, or at least a ‘fuck you’ but… nothing. He feels empty, sick. He doesn’t go back in the shower, even though he can feel his muscles tensing up and knows that it’d help to loosen them up. He considers texting one of the girls in his contact list, but… well, he doesn’t know if he actually wants to.

*

He sees Isak at school the next day. Of course, Isak is younger than him and doesn't have any classes with him, so it's easy to avoid him. In theory, anyway. It's not like Isak is following him around, or like he's following Isak, more like every part of him is tuned into whether Isak is present in a room or not. 

He notices him across the yard, first thing in the morning, with his golden hair all shimmering, as he walks with Eva, talking to her, presumably about Jonas, who probably made some inane mistake in their relationship recently. Chris doesn’t want to think about the reason _why_ she complains so much about her boyfriend. It’s the giant pink elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about.

In the first break he sees Isak again. He's talking to Jonas now, joking and laughing. He imagines they're bitching about everyone walking past, making joking, scathing comments about their hair. Isak looks alright. Almost alright, anyway. Chris manages to get closer without being noticed; he can see circles under Isak’s eyes, and they’re red rimmed.

The cafeteria is packed with people at lunch, but Chris spies Isak's snapback cap across the room so easily he doesn't even have to double check. 

Today is a day to do all his homework, he decides, as he picks at his sandwich, attempting to do it as carelessly and lazily as usual. Today, and every day henceforth. He’s going to have to figure out where he put his textbooks.

Some girl is eyeing him coyly, he notices, and he feels dirty, tainted by her glance. It makes him remember feather light touches and rough lips sucking and kissing him. It makes him remember a night where he felt stranger than he had ever felt, yet more real than ever. It's like a door has opened and he's being whisked away by the hurricane that is raging outside. He looks over at Isak's table. He's sitting in front of his laptop, doing homework probably. Except he's not typing; no, he's looking straight at Chris, his eye color indiscernible from this distance, from across the cafeteria, but his gaze is intense and not wavering. Chris can almost taste the vodka and hear the pumping music, can see the gay couples making out, can feel Isak's back move, under his hand that is over the shirt. He inhales sharply and looks away, counts to thirty, and chances a look back at the other boy (this is one of his rules: never let them believe you're truly interested in them once you've had them; makes things so much easier).

So after the thirty seconds, he looks back, because even though he have already been with Isak, his body betrays him. Because perhaps he is still slightly interested. Perhaps.

Isak isn't looking anymore. He’s entirely foxused on… whatever it is that he’s doing.

Chris’ clammy fingers almost breaks the plastic cup in his hand as he takes a swig of shit coffee he got from the coffee machine. Usually it tastes better.

He looks back again. Isak's getting up, and looks at him again. There's no trace of coyness, no satisfied smirk on his lips, and Chris finds himself overwhelmed with want to just kiss. He's half expecting Isak to stalk over to him. Expects him to lean down and kiss him or hit him or bite him. Something. But Isak doesn’t stalk over, doesn’t kiss or hit or bite. He just packs up his things, and walks away.

*

In the last lesson of the day, he’s paired up with William to work on a history project. William’s a wiz in History, so Chris doesn’t do usually do much when working with him. Today he’s not even able to do half the work he normally does.

“Why are you being like this?” William asks impatiently, and whacks him upside the head with the old school paper when he has zoned out for the umpteenth time.

“I just really hate History…” he says, evading the question. William seems to take it as an answer though. Good. He’s not in the mood to explain to William that he received a blowjob and given a hand-job yesterday. He could, of course, say he had been drunk, or that he hadn’t realized who he’d been doing those things with. But that would have been a lie worse than any lie he’d ever told in the past. So he just twirls his pen in his hand, and listens to whatever bullshit William’s spewing.

 

Two more days pass like this. Isak ignoring him. His phone blank of messages. Memories washing over him every time he lies in bed. He wants, needs, _more._ But Isak hates him now, or at least isn’t talking to him. And Chris knows it’s his own damn fault for rejecting the boy in that damn text message. He can’t even really be mad at Isak. He’s never really thought about what it felt like for the girls when he left their house before they woke up. Now he has done that to Isak. Stupid, stupid. Isak is one of his best friends.

And he has the softest mouth…

*

And then, three days after that fatal night, Chris is stalking towards Isak during the lunch break, to maybe kiss him or hit him or bite him. But he ends up just requesting to Jonas that he have a quick chat with Isak. Jonas looks confused, and says, “Sure, he’s all yours,”. Chris tugs Isak with him, out of the damned cafeteria, and out into the fresh, clean air, of the children’s playground.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why did we do that, the other night? _Why did you do it_?” Chris asks desperately.

And then he hears himself, and he knows it’s all going to go to hell. Because he’s making it out like- oh god, like Isak had- which he hadn’t, he hadn’t forced Chris to a thing, and-

“You wanted it,” Isak says in reply, his voice cold with repressed fury. “I didn’t force you to do a thing.” _I know._ “You flirted with me, then I kissed you. I kissed you first, but you kissed me back. And you kissed me the second time.”

Chris looks away.

“You took what you wanted,” Isak continues, and now his voice is sad, so broken, even though his next words are almost obscene. “- and I should have known that’s all it was. I wasn’t a person. I was just a thing. A _mouth_ to _fuck into_. I just wish you at least had the courage to admit, even to me, that you liked it, even when you aren’t riding out an orgasm.”

Chris wants to scream, wants to tell Isak that that wasn’t it at _all_ , that that night had been more. That it had been about giving himself, about feeling so vulnerable and bare. He wants to explain how he felt as though Isak’s room was magical, wants to tell him about smelling Isak’s shirt because he couldn’t just go over to him and kiss him on the shoulder and wake him up with slow kisses. He just couldn’t. That wasn’t… him. He wants to explain all this.

“Isak-“ he begins, the name low in his throat - but his friend has already left. Probably didn’t even hear a word he said.

And now he supposes Isak isn’t even his friend anymore.

He’d enjoyed their night together more than anything. And that night had cost him a friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted me to continue this, so there. No smut, but lots of angsty Chris.


	4. WHAT TO DO IF YOU WANT THE NEXT CHAPTER

Hi.

I'm planning to continue writing on this story, and I really hope you'll like what I have in mind. However, I want to direct your attention to my fic named [Firery Lamps and Snowy Stories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8858803); it is a fanfic about the pairing of Simon Snow and Baz Pitch from Carry On, but you don't actually need to have read the book to enjoy this story.

(I think you'll enjoy reading it, as Baz is a kinky bastard and has inappropriate fantasies.)

What I'm requesting of you is that you check the story out, tell me your honest opinion in its comment section, and then I'll get to work on You'll Enjoy It More.

Thank you all.

Xoxo xoxO

Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE NEXT CHAPTER IS UP


	5. Chapter 4

It’s torture. It’s torture to watch Isak in-between classes, it’s torture to see his picture on Facebook, it’s torture to hear someone mention his name in passing. Chris hasn’t told anyone. Not a soul knows of what happened between the two of them. No one knows about the shuddering of his breath of his breath as he jerked another boy off, no one knows about how he has catalogued every one of the flushes to Isak’s cheeks, no one knows how he’s replayed that night over and over. It’s been a little over a week since Isak left him standing on that playground. A little over a week since he lost Isak’s friendship.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. But the thing is, that Chris probably never realized how dependant he is on Isak. Isak is warmth and sassiness - he can make remarks so salty that it makes Chris laugh so hard it hurts.

 _You’ll enjoy it more_ , Isak had promised. And that was true. He always enjoyed everything more when Isak was involved. Whether it was teasing him with heated glances across the room - when Isak was dating that guy (what was his name?) it was always fun making the guy so jealous of the way Chris’ body fit perfectly with Isak’s, as he would sling an arm around his friend’s shoulder, or ruffle his hair. It actually pretty _stupid_ that it took a visit to a gay club for him to realize just how fucking much he fucking cares for that stupid boy.

Because as he’d thought that night, as Isak had grinned at him with that sexy smile; perhaps Chris always has found him sexy. Perhaps it wasn’t just that gay bar, and the music and the grinding bodies.

Okay, it isn’t even a question. It had _nothing_ to do with the place, and everything to do with the fact that Isak is magnificent. And now that he has had him, it is torture.

*

He isn’t sure why he’s preparing to go out alone that Friday. Usually he’d be going to some cliché High School party, drinking until he was barely able to walk, have sex with a girl or two (or both), but instead, he’s putting on a tight-fitted t-shirt and a leather jacket over that, the pair of jeans Eva loved him in. Or was it Mathile who’d loved those jeans? (He isn’t sure. God).

Soon he’s pocketing his fake ID and some money. He runs out of his house, jumping on a bus, and after riding for what feels like forever, he can get off and walk the last minutes to the bar. It’s lit up in rainbow colors, filled with laughter and smiles. Since it’s Friday, there’s apparently discount on the Margaritas, so he buys one and downs it quickly. It may be a drink made for savoring, but now he just wants to get drunk on cheap drinks.

Then he notices something.

It’s the two lesbians from last week. He’s sure it is them; he studied them close enough last week, and though they aren’t attached by the mouths right now, he is _sure_.

They’re sitting at a table, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes as they mutter conversation.

“We’re not interested in a threesome,” one of them tells him, as he approaches. Her blue eyes are flashing dangerously, and her red hair glints in the light.

Before he gets to tell her that he really isn’t interested in anything tonight, and that he isn’t even sure why he’s come back here in the first place, the other girl speaks up. She’s got baby blue hair and has a pink line drawn across each of her eyelids. Eyelid-liner? He doesn’t know anything about makeup.

“Hey, you were the guy that made out with the guy in the green polo last week!” she informs him happily. He suspects she’s had quite a few drinks already. He didn’t even know that they’d noticed him and Isak kissing… That anyone had seen.

He pulls out a chair, and sits down as the bluehaired girl says, “don’t you remember? Those two boys making out like the world was about to collapse in on them!” to her girlfriend. The redhead’s eyes lights up, as she scrutinizes Chris and suddenly seems to remember him. “Oh, yes! It was so awesome to see! You were awesome together! Why isn’t he with you? He obviously wasn’t a one night stand, so-”

“Why can’t he have been a one night stand?” Chris hedges her questions.

The girls exchange a look, then look at him. He squirms under their gaze, and maybe it’s the alcohol loosening his tongue that makes him admit it.

“Okay, fine. I like him. But I think I messed it up.” He mutters. “It’s been horrible ever since that night. I asked him out, and then stood him up. I’m an asshole.”

He takes a swig of his margarita, not even caring how flamboyant the drink is, before hiding his head in his hand.

*

The girls talk to him for hours, and he dances with them. It’s completely friendly, and Chris enjoys himself, even though they don’t even exchange names. But still, the thought of this being the place he kissed Isak for the first time rips his heart out. He takes a taxi home at about 1 am, not able to take it any longer. He climbs into bed at home, missing Isak so much it hurts.

*

“Dude, what’s the deal? You’ve been moping around for over a week now. You’ve been distant, you’ve grumpy, you’ve got a strange look on your face, and right now you’re looking as though you want to murder me.”

“I do, William. You better watch yourself.” Chris tells his best friend, as he stabs into the ketchup with his fry. He and William are at McDonalds, and his friend seems to have taken it as his mission to probe more than the doctor at a prostate examination.

“You’ve fucked something up. Or someone. Who did you get pregnant?” William says, reaching an almost correct conclusion. Chris sighs. God. He can’t take this probing. Prostate examiner William.

“Yes, I.. slept with someone. Last Friday. ”

“Isak said you slept over at his house after you went out.”

“I did.”

Then Chris is silent, and avoiding William’s gaze for a moment too long. Just a moment. Just a few seconds, but that makes the whole bloody difference.

“Oh.” William is stunned into silence. “You and… Oh.”

“We didn’t go all the way,” Chris says, and tries to make his trademark leer and make William uncomfortable with talk of his sex life, but he knows he’s failing. His smile is way too soft. His voice too reminiscent. His teeth won’t leer the right way. “He gave me head, and I… Well, I touched him.” He tries again. This time he sounds a bit more like his usual cold self.

“You like him,” William breathes, his face filled with wonder. Prostate examiner William.

Chris shrugs. He doesn’t even need to say it, even if he knew how to say it. He isn’t good with words. Thank god for shoulder shrugs.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are scary to put on yourself, to wear on your skin without the use of needles or knives or ink. Words are what breaks you down.  
> Or  
> Chris can't speak words.

“He’s right over there,” William whispers. He’s subtly (not so subtly actually) pointing across the room to where Isak is sitting. Chris absolutely _cannot_ believe his friend. _Honestly._ He’s practically holding a sign over Chris’ head saying _THIS GUY EVERYONE THINKS IS STRAIGHT? YEAH HE HAS THE HOTS FOR ISAK. ISAK WHO’S SITTING RIGHT OVER THERE. RIGHT. OVER. THERE._ The invisible sign seems like it’s pulsing in neon colors and screaming out the word he read so much about at the library yesterday.

He pushes the thought of the word away, and looks at William with a pleading glance. “Cut it out,” he says, and he says it with everything he has in his, except his heart. Because his heart can’t help convincing his eyes to look over at Isak. Isak, who’s eating his sandwich with Eva, who’s looking over at Vilde, and everyone’s ignoring the pink elephant in the room.

And Isak isn’t looking anywhere but at his sandwich, which he picks and pulls pieces out of, like they’re scabs from a wound he can’t help picking.

He looks beautiful. Lonely, but beautiful. Chris turns back to look at William, because it aches too much to see that.

“Go talk to him!” William hisses angrily. Chris steals another glance at Isak. Because his heart doesn’t care about the ache or the feeling of lead that has settled around it.

“No,” he says. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Are you ashamed?” William asks, clearly frustrated.

In the last few days he has constantly tried to just get Chris to get his ‘shit together, since you clearly like the guy far too much for your own good.’

Instead of advising Chris to do what Chris normally does when he feels too close to somebody, he keeps telling him to _talk_ to Isak, like he didn’t already try, and Isak didn’t already break his heart.

“Not ashamed. Just… doesn’t feel like it’s something everyone should know about.” Chris admits, and gulps down some coffee.

*

Yesterday he’d gone to the town’s library after school, to use their computers. Not because he doesn’t have a computer himself, because obviously he does, but because, again, this doesn’t feel like it’s something everyone should know about. Besides, he isn’t entirely sure what’ll pop up on his search, and he won’t be able to live with the embarrassment if his mom finds out he’s been searching up the things he has on his computer.

It’s stupid. But he feels as though it’s safer to go through this search here.

He finds a computer that faces a corner wall in the back of the library, and begins his search.  
*

It’s not that he’s never heard of bisexuality. Liking both guys and girls. He’s heard of it plenty; tons of girls have told him they’re bi, just before they hook up with him and another girl. So it’s not that he hasn’t heard of bisexual people or that he doesn’t know that bisexuality is perfectly normal and okay…

It’s just that reading about that word, that definition, that _sexuality_ in regards to himself is scary. He even thinks it’d be easier to think he was gay. Because then there wouldn’t be any confusion. He’d have been attracted to a couple guys, probably have gone further than jerk them off (because even if Chris was _gay_ , he’d still be a _player_ , he just _knows_ it) - he’d know that he was gay. But he’s not gay. And he knows he’s not straight either. So really, bisexuality does make sense, it makes more sense than anything he’s ever thought about himself, but it’s still - still so scary to apply that label to himself.

If it was just some sort of weird attraction he’d had while he was drunk, Chris could probably handle it. If it was just a make-out session in a dim club and Isak getting him off with his mouth or hands or both, Chris could probably handle it. But it’s not just a ‘weird attraction while drunk’. It’s honest-to-god freaking attraction, and the memories of that night sends him into a frenzy every time he thinks about it.

His right hand can testify to that.

He scrolls down the numerous pages on the library computer, finds stories from bisexual men. Some has stories that he relates eerily to; they knew their whole lives that they liked girls, and one day discovered that they also had a deep attraction and connection to other men. He reads about how isn’t something you just wake up one day and _know_ , but rather a slow process, and he thinks about how he hadn’t even known he was falling for Isak until he had fallen and suddenly was lying on the ground before Isak’s feet, the wind knocked out of him.

*

“You have to talk to him.”

“No way,” he says, with a sinking heart in his chest, because he _knows_ William is right. “I can’t talk,”

William stares him down, and icy, annoyed stare. He doesn’t even need to say anything for Chris to know what he’s thinking. It’s all there in his eyes. _You’ll regret it for-fucking-ever if you don’t fucking try_ they say. And _I’ll cut off your balls if you don’t do it soon._

“I’ll try,” he laments lamely, finally.

William grins, and calls out Isak’s name.

Isak turns his head towards them, his eyes impossible to read across the cafeteria, once again, and once again Chris feels hot because he feels like Isak is _looking_ at him again, and flashes shoots through his head-

 _Isak groaning,_ _Isak kissing him, Isak stroking his eyebrows, Isak sucking his nipple, Isak laughing and then kissing him, Isak being so careful and IsakIsakIsakIsak._

He blinks and Isak is gone from the seat. Literally. He’s gotten up and is stalking towards them, his irritation clear on his face, as he throws out the remains of his sandwich.

“What?” Isak snaps at William, the second he arrives at their table. William just stares at him, then gestures helplessly. Gestures towards Chris. And Chris is so entirely unprepared that it fucking hurts, he wants to kill or break something or possibly just lie down and cry and god when did his thoughts become a fucking trainwreck?

Isak’s looking at him, and Chris’ heart is aching so fucking much, he can’t stop shaking. Isak raises his eyebrows. The seconds stretches into what feels like ours and then all Chris can think to say is a desperate, “Isak, please…” because Isak is already turning to leave. “Don’t go,” he says to Isak’s back, and then Isak stiffens. Isak turns around slowly, and looks him in the eye.

“Cut. It. Out.” Isak Valtersen says, and then he doesn’t sound so much _angry_ as _tired._ “I really don’t have time for this, so I’ll just make one thing really clear, before I get the fuck out of here. _You_ were the one who were gone in the morning. Not me. So you can stuff your ‘don’t go’ up where the sun don’t shine. Fuck you Chris.”

And Chris realizes he has misjudged everything, and he may have to learn how to speak properly, really, really, before Isak leaves-

Isak has left.


	7. Chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definition of:  
> jealous, adj  
> [jel-uh s]   
> Characterized by or proceeding from suspicious fears or envious resentment:  
> "a jealous rage"; "jealous intrigues."

Chris is going to do what Chris does best. He’s going to go out tonight, he’s going to have fun, and forget everything about golden hair and dark eyes and hungry touches that are so pleasureable yet always offering a way out…

He’s going to go out there, and meet a thousand different men who looks like Isak Valtersen, break each of their hearts and not pay attention to the way his own heart aches. Because a heart doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure he could do without this one, anyway.

The heart is just an organ, and any pain he thinks he feels in it is just psychological, and no one has ever died from a stupid emotional heartbreak. Chris is certainly not going to be the first. It doesn’t seem like the type of record he’d want to break, the kind of name he’d want to make for himself.

So he pulls on some clothes, styles his hair, takes the now-familiar bus route to the gay bar, and strolls inside. Who the fuck cares anymore?

Him, apparently.

Because his eyes are immediately drawn to a mop of golden curls, chatting up another boy, and he feels his heart break before his eyes even recognize what he’s seeing. Isak. In this gay bar, again, holding his snapback casually in his hand, spinning it lightly between his fingers, with a relaxed air about him. Like he doesn’t have a care. Like there’s literally nowhere he’d rather be, than standing in front of some random boy with dark blond hair and tight, slim-fitting jeans, and _flirting_. He’s laughing and smiling, and he’s starting to spin the snapback in his fingers with a coy smile on his lips.

And he knows he has no right, no right at all, but he is so unbearably jealous. He knows the feeling. It was how he felt, when he found out that the first girl he’d ever kissed was dating a guy two years older than him, and Chris only was the second best. It was that feeling of blood rushing through his body and the want to kick the offending dude’s teeth out. But had no right then, and he has no right now. He’s shaking, and his jaw hurts from grinding his teeth so hard.

But Isak is _laughing_ and the snapback is spinning and _spinning_ , and Chris knows that if he doesn’t get drunk right the fuck now, he’s going to end up sobbing pretty soon. He all but sprints to the bar, orders the biggest pack of vodka shots he can afford, and starts shooting them down his throat ignoring the disgusting burn that he has gotten used to over the years.

“Hey,” a guy says from the seat next to him. He slings another shot down, while he considers ignoring the guy. But he remembers his resolve, and he turns his head, to look at a boy who doesn’t seem that much older than him. The boy’s smiling crookedly at him.

His brown hair is styled in that _I-just-got shagged-but-managed-to-fix-my-hair-perfectly_ way, his eyes a golden, hazel color.

_Hot_ , is the first word that comes to his mind, and the second thought he thinks is _but he’s not Isak_ , which is such an unwelcome thought that he immediately clamps down on it. “Hi,” he says and smiles back.

“You seem like you need some company if I’m honest,” the guy says with a grin, and then adds, “I also want in on your collection of shots.”

“Take one,” Chris says generously, before grinning and asking for the boy’s name. If the grin’s forced, no one needs to know. “I’m Tobias,” the boy says, before downing a shot, and telling Chris he’ll pay the next round, before pulling out his money and counting up how much he has got.

“What brings you here?” Chris asks smoothly, while Tobias calculates how much it’ll be for the drinks they both agree they want next, as soon as they’ve finished with this lot, that is.

“What brings _you_ here?” the other boy deflects with a smile. Chris shrugs. Is _heartbreak_ too stupid an answer? Tobias sighs. “It’s a guy, isn’t it? You like someone,”

Chris must look guilty, but Tobias just coos at him and elbows him in the side. They’re both pleasantly buzzed, and it doesn’t feel weird at all for Tobias to act like he’s known him for years.

“I want to get over it,” Chris says with a deep sigh. “Doesn’t feel worth it.”

He downs a few more shots, and engages in conversation with Tobias. Tonight the music isn’t as loud as it was on that night with Isak, so he can actually hear the other boy without leaning in. In theory, at least, because they’re both leaning in, putting hands on shoulders and thighs and it…

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Taking this guy’s face in his hands and leaning in, brushing his lips against Tobias’. It would be free of commitment and it would be the way to get over his lovesick state. It’s what he has done every other time his heart has gone to close to the line, every time he’s been tiptoeing along that line.

And it’s not like his dick wouldn’t interested in getting down with Tobias, but every other part of him is really _not_ interested.

And suddenly Tobias is a little too close, and even though he has nothing against the feeling of him; warm and strong and male and with a scent that has a hint of sweat and sex - it just…

“Wanna have another shot?” he says desperately.

Apparently Chris is an emotional drunk tonight; it isn’t long before he’s pouring out his heart to Tobias. He tells him about the most amazing blowjob of his life and how he’d fallen for Isak forever ago without even realizing it, and even uses the analogy he’d thought of the other day, about how he hadn’t realized he was falling before ” _I suddenly basically was lying at his feet,”_ and he apologizes for being a complete fucking mess.

“I just, I really like him and, I can’t, I can’t- I can’t even kiss a hot guh, not even you, even though you’re totally hot and I wish I could but I just _can’t-_ and I just-“ he says, almost wailing. Tobias smiles at him, his smile comforting, a little freaked out but flattered. “It’s okay,” Tobias tells him, and Chris could _sob_ with relief and heartbreak. Why did he have to go this long and then lose his backbone? Now all he is, is a heartbroken boy who can’t even do any of the things he has done every other time his heart has ached.

Isak is grinning across the room, and placing his cap on the other boy’s head, pushing stray locks of hair out of the eyes that aren’t Chris’s with a soft smile.

And Chris’s heart isn’t just aching. It’s burning up with agony.

He turns towards Tobias again. “You know what, forget what I just said,” he tells him, grabs his face and presses their lips together. Tobias tastes of vodka, but despite the fact that they’re both intoxicated, the _taste_ isn’t intoxicating. But it’s good. It’s so good, and it feels like finding something new and special. Like building his dream house with the wrong person; it’s so good and everything feels right, but the one he’s doing it with isn’t the boy he wants it to be. But Chris clamps down on the thought, and slips his tongue into Tobias’ eager, pliant mouth.

They are young and free and beautiful, and he needs a distraction. So what if Tobias isn’t like Isak at all, so what if the heart that is breaking currently is his own? Does it _matter_?


	8. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you let glass splinters from your past define your worth, you lose your worth. Don't you?  
> OR  
> Chris can't let himself go. Or Isak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not updating this story for so long. I'm really, really sorry. Lots of stuff have happened. Have a chapter filled with angst.

It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter at all. Sex is just bodies, chasing pleasure and seeking release. It’s a series of elusive moments where you bury yourself in hands and mouths, where you allow drunken mouths to taste the taste of cigarette-smoke and vodka and sometimes pills that gives you a frenzied high that leaves a bad aftertaste. It’s hair-pulling and groping hands and sinking into warmth, and pushing roughly, taking and taking and taking.

It’s pleasure at its finest. He’s always said that pleasure is always intensified by a little bit of pain. Perhaps that applies to heartbreak too. When that girl - the one whose name he has forgotten over the years - dated that guy who was two years older than him, he went out and got smashed, allowed his brain to break like brittle pieces of glass, just like his heart. And when it all had been smashed and the blood had stopped flowing, he hadn’t even bothered taking out the pieces from where they’d cut into him. He just covered the empty spaces up. And soon enough it wasn’t about the girl anymore.

The tongue in his mouth is skilled, the callused hand kneading patterns into his spine, and his own hips are churning restlessly against the other boy. They’re both hard, and Chris knows that should be weird - it _would_ have been weird just a few weeks ago.

He doesn’t know why. But he opens his eyes. Tobias’ eyes are closed, but he doesn’t look at Tobias. He looks across the room, to where Isak is _still_ flirting with that boy, and _Chris has no right to be jealous_ he reminds himself. Absolutely no right.

Especially not considering the fact that he’s standing here with his lips locked with another boy (he’s not sure whether the situation would be worse or better if he was kissing a girl) - but Isak looks so goddamn _pretty_ under the flickering lights. And then Isak’s eyes stray from the biceps of the boy he’s admiring, and he looks at Chris, and Chris falls into his eyes, and he continues kissing absentmindedly. Isak breaks gazes first, mumbles something to the boy, and leaves. The unnamed boy turns around in surprise, gazing after him, his jaw slack and-

Tobias pulls away - not that Chris is exactly preventing him. “You’re not entirely here,” he says. He’s drunk, but surprisingly lucid. “You’re trying to forget. And I won’t - I can’t - I _won’t_ help you there.” He seems like he can’t decide whether he can’t or he won’t.

Chris nods, focusing his attention on the brunette in front of him, who somehow _knows_ that Chris needs something else; he deserves to be told his worth to his face. “You’re better than being somebody’s vodka shot,” he tells Tobias, and he’s not entirely sure if the boy gets his point, but it doesn’t really matter, because Tobias nods sagely (maybe they’re a bit more drunk than he thought… which is pretty bad) and he looks around. He assumes Isak left through the back door - it is swinging lightly on its hinges. He grabs his things, and rushes to the door, as though if the door stops swinging before he’s through he will never see Isak’s face again. He thinks it might be possible.

He storms through the door, his drunken brain not really registering his movements before the cold air forces it to re-assess and realize that - oh, he’s outside, and Isak is walking towards a bench. It’s vandalized and partly destroyed, but good enough for Isak it seems, as he’s sitting down on the part of it that isn’t broken into splinters.  

He walks towards Isak - he wobbles slightly on the first step, but it seems his feet wants to see Isak close-up too.

And then he’s standing a foot away from the bench, and Isak gets to his feet with a disgustingly bigger amount of ease than he himself could have displayed. The golden hair flops in his face, and he looks defiant and cold and-

“This is Even all over again,” Isak tells him, his eyes even darker than the night around them. “He’d be kissing a girl in front of me, and I’d be watching, and he’d open his eyes and look at me watching him. People get off on hurting me. Do you understand? They get off on it.”

Chris steps forward, reveling in the intoxicating feeling of being _near_ Isak. The Isak-ness of him pulling at Chris’ Chris-ness, pulling at his heartstrings. Isak is dark and light, night and day, everything, everything.

“And you’ve kissed every girl I know Chris, and I knew you’d be up for some fun, and I was up for it too. Because you’re always up for it. You always want it, and it doesn’t matter that you hurt people.” Chris knows what Isak isn’t saying - _you hurt people, so I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt them._ He can hear the words in the venomous way Isak spits out the words, and the thing is that he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care at all, he doesn’t care about pain and hurt and heartbreak, because having Isak break his heart until it can’t beat another heartbeat seems like the most beautiful way to go.

“And then we went and fucked it all up.” Isak whispers. It’s almost a whimper at the end, or maybe the whimper is torn from his own throat, as they step towards each other again. Isak’s warmth is radiating towards him, even though they aren’t even touching.

And then-

Then Isak’s lips graze his. It feels like _so much_ and _not enough_ all at once, because there are so many things he hasn’t told Isak yet, hasn’t told anyone at all. Words like _I’m hurting and I want to stitch myself together for you, Isak, only you, only you_ are buzzing through him, and he wants to kiss them into Isak’s mouth, wants to kiss Isak breathless, kiss himself breathless, kiss until there is nothing left but kisses and Isak and Chris.

They aren’t touching, no part of them is touching, other than the soft grazing of lips that Chris is tenderly reciprocating, for less than a fraction of a second. Then Isak is gone, stepping sideways and moving down the street, taking with him the radiating warmth, and Chris calls after him - “Don’t go!” - and he sounds _desperate_ and _wrecked_ and _fuck, he’s in too deep._

Isak’s shoulders stiffen as he asks why he shouldn’t go. Chris tells him he doesn’t know why.

He does. He knows why he doesn’t _want_ Isak to go. But he also knows he doesn’t deserve for him to stay. Isak deserves better than someone who won’t even pull the glass pieces of his own heart out of his own flesh.


	9. Chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know. I'm horrible. I don't update as often as I'd like - but I keep forgetting to save the document, and then when I'm almost done, the computer has to restart or runs out of battery and I fucking lose everything. Today I decided to say 'fuck it' and just whip something out.   
> (I also made it official with my sort-of girlfriend. She is now my actual girlfriend, as of today. It's so very gay. I love it.)

Chris isn’t sure how he got home. Maybe he took a bus, or a cab, or got a lift from somebody. He’s pretty sure that whatever he did, he gave them the wrong address, because he remembers flashes of walking down a street; he remembers pulling the leather jacket tighter around himself and wondering why he shouldn’t just go home.

He knows that even though this street is miles away from the night club, he must have taken some kind of transportation, because he’s definitely not cold enough to have been walking that far (because yeah, Chris has been out enough nights to know what it feels like when you’ve been walking in the streets for hours, even when you’re drunk or high, and the chilling cold that he remembers wasn’t from the night air).

He remembers knocking on somebody’s window, and he remembers emptying a bottle of some fucking gay kind of fruity alcohol, while repeating that he fucking _hates_ liking guys, and that it’s fucking supposed to be _easy_ , while somebody rubs his back.

He remembers gentle hands helping him into a cab and a voice reprimanding him about how he’s lucky their parents aren’t home, but he thinks he was too far gone, or maybe he was just too busy looking at the way the tip of the sun was rising in the horizon, thinking some philosophical profound _thought_ that he can’t remember now. Because now - now he’s lying on his back in his bed, his head pounding like a bitch, and it’s been a long time since his hangover has been _this fucking bad_.

He misses the days when getting drunk made everything bright and light. He misses the times when _he_ was bright and light.

That was a really, really long time ago. And isn’t _that_ a depressing thought, he thinks, squeezing his eyes tighter. He wishes he could blame it all on the whole _attraction to guys_ thing, except, that can’t really be it, can it? Because if people are right on the whole thing about homosexuality - and bisexuality as well - being genetic, that means he’s always been this way, right? Which means that he can’t blame the fact that he’s unhappy now on something he’s always been - because he was happy once, and he was bi then as well.

So he can’t blame his misery on the fact that he gets hard for Isak Valtersen. He can, however, blame it on the fact that he’s brokenhearted and it really sucks.

He couldn’t have controlled the fact that his glass heart broke so long ago. But he could have gotten a pair of tweezers and pulled the pieces out, one by one, instead of allowing himself to push it down, because of some idea that it hurts less to have glass embedded into your flesh.

Maybe he’s broken because he allowed himself to break. And he’s hurting because he won’t acknowledge that.

He could also blame it all on the fact that a group of construction workers seem to think it’s an awesome idea to start banging about in his head.

He hears a slight _knock-knock_ on his door, and scrambles to sit up, half expecting a friend who crashed in the living room to come in. But-

It’s his mom. He blinks. He can’t remember the last time he saw her. Most of the time they just… stay away from each other.

Furthermore - she’s bringing _coffee_ and _painkillers_. Which means she knows he’s been out drinking last night.

The last time she indicated that she knew about that, she had just threatened to lock him in his room until the end of time, and he told her he was no Rapunzel.

She definitely hadn’t brought stuff to medicate his hangover.

“Mom…” he begins.

“Your friend Eva brought you here around dawn.” His mom says without any preamble. No _are you okay_ , no _here’s the medication_. Instead she hands him the coffee and the Advil, which he takes. She’s a do-it type, not a say-it type, his mom is.

“She told me you hadn’t gone out with her, nor any of your other friends.”

He tells her that that’s true.

She sighs. She seems worried, more worried than she seemed any of the other times she caught him stumbling into the house, drunk or high. He isn’t sure why it’s the fact that he didn’t go with his friends that gets to her, but it definitely is that.

She has a wrinkle between the eyebrows. He wants to smooth it out, but he doesn’t. He’s not _five._ Wrinkles don’t go away with the touch of the fingertip.

“She also told me she had gone through your text messages,” _that traitor_ he thinks to himself, plotting Eva’s demise, “and that there was no messages from anyone she didn’t know from school. No messages that were incriminating. But still - still you seem miserable. And I’m worried.”

He knows it would be easy. He could open his mouth right now, and just tell her that _mom, I’m bi._ It would explain everything, and it would also make it so much easier to explain all the other stuff too.

But his throat is constricting, and he can’t get beyond _“Mom, I’m…”_

He can tell by her eyes that she knows that he isn’t trying to apologize, but rather explain. She watches him with calm eyes, and frantically he wonders why he can’t say it out loud, why he can’t tell her.

“I’m not ready to tell you yet.” He finally says. Her mouth thins a little, but then she reaches out a hand and smoothens his hair. “You should shower,” she tells him.

He nods. They sit in silence, finishing off the coffee.

When he gets up to go shower, her hand - which is soft from some sort of cream she’s always slathering onto it - grabs his, and she squeezes lightly.

“I love you.”

He’ll tell her soon. For now, he’ll go shower, because his hair is greasy from the product he put in it last night.

*

The next Monday, Sana Bakkoush walks straight up to him, her hijab wafting slightly in the wind, jeans clinging to her legs, lipstick as immaculate as ever, and, ignoring William who is opening and closing his mouth like a fish, hands him a pair of tweezers before uttering the most profound advice he’s ever heard: “Get to work, loser.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yous:  
> To NRK for producing the TV show SKAM. I do not own any of the characters, and am very glad I got to play a little around with them!  
> To my dear friend Amanda, who obsesses over (Penetrator) Chris and ships him with everyone. I send her all my love. xoxo  
> To you, dear reader, I also say thanks. I might even make a part two to this?


End file.
